


When I See You Again

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018), Killing Eve (TV 2018) RPF
Genre: (i'm not fine), F/F, a soft sandie, i'm FINE, reunited after quarantine, season 4, tenderrrrrr soffttttt, you know the vibe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: Sandra and Jodie see each other for the first time in a long while, after the end of the COVID-19 pandemic.--This is platonic. (*Cough*) I know I have a reputation for writing the slowest slow burn where S+J fall for each other. But this one is platonic! :)
Relationships: Jodie Comer/Sandra Oh
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	When I See You Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prodigalpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalpoet/gifts).



> Thank you to ProdigalPoet for the title, which is from Wiz Khalifa's song, "See You Again."
> 
> I want to dedicate this piece to ProdigalPoet. Thank you for always being here for me during a dark, transitional time in my life. Thank you for talking to me, today, even. You supported me when I started writing this and then got cabin fever and started driving, aimlessly 👏🏼👏🏼--you're just always here for me, even though I feel like such a mess, lately.
> 
> \--
> 
> [Unfiltered explanation of this piece]  
> Idk what happened, I think I'm just lonely because my family doesn't support me, and I'm the only person on my team at work, now, and the only place I go IRL is Starbucks, and my closest friends (thank goodness for them!) are online...
> 
> But I know a lot of people love and appreciate writings of softness, so at least there's that.
> 
> I always just feel a little odd (naturally) for writing about real people--but you guys know the drill. I love them. Respect them. Look up to them. And I'll go back to writing about our favorite murder wives, now!
> 
> It's all good! 👌🏼
> 
> Cheers to the end of this pandemic, which is inevitable and on its way!  
> Enjoy. xo

They see each other from a few yards away, and everything begins to happen, so quickly.

Jodie drops the bag that hangs over her elbow. The satchel falls to the hard floor, abandoned and forgotten.

Sandra keeps her backpack on, which is only over one shoulder. But as the two take quick steps towards each other, she drops it near their feet.

They embrace.

Jodie’s arms sweep around Sandra’s shoulders, and Sandra hugs Jodie’s middle as her forehead comes to rest on Jodie’s shoulder.

“Oh my god!” Jodie cries, her voice suddenly shaky, her vision suddenly blurry. The shock softens, and she presses her chin into the soft expanse of curly hair. Her eyes fall closed and she _feels_ —just feels. She squints her eyes tightly shut as she registers that Sandra is breathing unsteadily into her shoulder. The senses of overwhelm and softness begin to tango.

Sandra hums, and it sounds pained—the intent is happy and relieved, yet it’s a sad sound, to the ear.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sandra echoes, subconsciously.

By sound alone, Jodie can tell that the words are spoken through a soft stream of tears.

“I love you. I missed you!” Jodie rushes out. The sound is muffled by soft hair and a warm shoulder, but she knows, somehow, that each word is understood.

Sandra turns her head, needing to come up for air . . . and needing to be more present to other senses, not just sound and words and the (almost hot) warmth, where they are connected. She presses the side of her head to Jodie’s shoulder and looks upward, towards Jodie’s face. Her hearing becomes crystal clear, when she does this. She hears a sniffle.

Jodie looks at Sandra. Her breathing stalls when she registers what she sees. Sandra’s eyes are sad, heavy, glossy. So dark that they border on black. Jodie doesn’t recall ever seeing Sandra like this. It is like Sandra has let go, completely, and only vulnerability and the raw basis of human neediness for love and care remains, painting her face to look broken, yet completely softened.

She kisses Sandra’s cheek, close to Sandra’s temple. Then, she presses the side of her face to Sandra’s.

It creates more closeness—as if there were any limits to this. To when it’s _them_. It creates a sense of safety and security that always comes when Jodie does this type of thing.

Still, the silence is baffling, to Jodie. And it’s not even that she minds; the calm reminds her of floating on the surface of a pool and gazing at the sky. But she also craves Sandra’s words, whenever they will come.

She knows they will. Sandra is the finest craftsman of words, and of the art of stringing them together to create something profound; matchless. Witnessing Sandra’s silence, right now, ends up feeling even more sacred (if that was even possible).

Sandra hums again. Her brow furrows in a melancholy sort of pain. Her eyes are closed, but they seem to flutter as though she’s in REM sleep. And then, quickly after, she takes a breath that is inconsistent and riddled with sobs. It becomes a sigh when she releases it outward. The release of this breath makes her more peaceful and still, and then she speaks. She finally speaks.

“It’s been . . . _too_ long,” she chokes.

Every syllable reverberates against Jodie’s neck. Jodie, in turn, feels every place where they are connected in the embrace, and she finds that there is no room to cradle Sandra any closer or tighter. Her palm flattens where it holds Sandra’s shoulder, and she hopes that it creates a pocket of warmth, somehow.

“I know,” Jodie says. “I was . . .” (she struggles to find the words) “. . . in pain, without you.”

What Jodie really meant was, ‘I missed you,’ yet somehow, the words (as they naturally formed) amount to that—and to something else, entirely.

Sandra’s voice becomes clearer. She speaks faster and she shakes her head slightly, back and forth, as she says, “I haven’t seen you since _2019_.” She says it in a way that sounds as though someone has taken something from her. She says it in a way that emphasizes the injustice.

“I know,” Jodie whispers, “I know.” She tries to bring comfort, and she brushes one of her hands up and down, but the pain in her voice speaks to the same hurt. The same monster, the same robbery.

Sandra sniffles and begins to cry harder than she ever intended. Her face twists with pain, and the corners of her mouth turn downward, and all she can do is turn her face into the warmth of Jodie’s shoulder, once again.

“It’s okay,” Jodie soothes.

But if anyone could see her, right now, they would see in the glossiness of her eyes that she threatens to come undone, just the same. They would see that she is looking at the ceiling and the floor in an attempt to distract herself from the way that Sandra shakes each time she breathes and quietly sniffles and cries. The witness might even conclude that she _needs_ to let go and come undone, and that she is pained by her inability to do so, right now.

Somewhere deep down, Jodie knows that they can’t both collapse into unrestrained tears, otherwise they won’t accomplish any work, today.

It doesn’t take much time before Sandra’s tears subside. Jodie holds her, all the while. The time that passes feel like two years of missed tenderness. The way that the closeness starts to feel comfortable—almost numb—makes up for lost time. It almost fools them into believing that they were never apart; there is nothing to cry for; there is no loss.

Tears fade into something neutral. The neutrality gives rise to calm, secure happiness. Peace.

Sandra laughs, after all the minutes spent crying. She turns her head and makes her face visible, once again.

Jodie mirrors the smile and meets her eyes.

Then, Sandra speaks with less concern. “It’s like I was missing . . . I don’t want to say ‘a part of myself,’” she ponders.

Jodie hums and nods her head, slightly.

“It’s like you’re my soulmate,” Sandra says, turning her voice upward like she hints at a question.

Jodie hums and breathes, “Yes.” She says, “We’ve spoken about this, a few times.”

She knows exactly what Sandra means, even though the two of them can never find a word that encompasses what they know to be the truth. They belong together. They need to be near each other. They were destined to meet. Something within them, deep down, is the same.

Sandra’s hand finally comes up to rest on Jodie’s cheek, and she pets her thumb across soft skin, collecting tears. “I thought about you all the time,” Sandra tells her. “I just wanted to come back here. I waited—I waited for so long.”

Jodie nods, and she wonders why she is always rendered speechless, at times like this. She knows any words she could say would be the same as what Sandra is expressing. So, instead, she shares in Sandra’s melancholy sense of longing. She subjects herself to sympathy for Sandra’s emotions, leaving her own aside.

With that sympathy in mind, Jodie says, “I’m gonna need to leave Liverpool, aren’t I?” She is joking, but she also wonders if maybe she really should.

Sandra clicks her tongue and says, “ _Noo_ ,” with a smile. She says it in the same joking manner that she might talk to a child. She softens with an exhale and says, “When this is all over, and as long as there’s no more _illness_ and _lockdown_ , . . .” she trails off, “then I hope you’ll let me know, whenever you’re in town.” She thinks for a moment and then rushes, “Well, you know . . . whenever you’re here for more than a couple days.”

It’s clear that Sandra says this because she doesn’t want to create the expectation and pressure that Jodie should always visit, especially given the jetlag and how busy Jodie becomes with various jobs and opportunities.

“I’ll always visit, any time I can,” Jodie says, optimistically. She pauses and thinks to herself, and then she says, “If these next few months are the last time we work together, if I never—” she accidentally cuts herself off with a choking sound as tears suddenly appear. She feels the urge to clamp her hand over her mouth. Pain knits itself into every muscle of her face, and she thinks the sight is ugly, so she shakes her head. She would hide her face in her hands, if she could, but since she can’t, she looks down.

“Oh, no . . . Oh—Baby,” Sandra says, as Jodie’s high-pitched, soft voice breaks itself into a few sobs. She pulls Jodie closer, offering her shoulder.

Jodie slots herself in perfectly, partaking in the comfort of Sandra’s shoulder. Her high, quiet, soft sobs continue. Her pained humming sounds are sporadic.

“I’m sure there’ll be other things,” Sandra soothes. And then, “Hell, I’ll pay someone, myself, to write it.”

Jodie laughs. She juggles boisterous laughter with her hopeless cascade of tears. She laughs not only at Sandra’s joke, but also at the situation. The pain inside of her begs the universe to bring them together, again. She wishes to pause time and exist here, forever, at the beginning of the end.

Sandra rubs her hand across Jodie’s back, but she feels movement. She shifts to see what is happening, but before she knows it, her forehead is gently pressed to Jodie’s.

“You came during a pivotal time of my life,” Sandra says, as feelings turn themselves into sensical thoughts.

Jodie listens and then admits, “You, too.”

Something about the way that Jodie always understands and mirrors Sandra’s sentiments makes Sandra feel safe. And not only safe, but at home—finally, after so much time has passed.

“You okay?” Sandra asks.

“Yeah,” Jodie says. The unsteady exhale that follows says otherwise. “Are you?”

“No,” Sandra says, bluntly.

Jodie laughs.

Sandra laughs, too, and the pair pull back and look at each other. Their smiles are so wide that they can hardly see. Their laughter escalates, and it becomes the kind that could make them cry from laughing.

They could; either of them could cry more, cry harder.

“Oh, I love you,” Sandra says, finally. She cups Jodie’s face with both of her hands and kisses Jodie’s cheek.

“I love you,” Jodie says. Her face still glows from the laughter. She wraps her arms around Sandra’s neck and presses the sides of their faces together, again.

“Let’s go,” Sandra says, gently, soon after.

Jodie kisses Sandra’s forehead.

“ _No_ ,” Jodie jokes. And when she hears Sandra start to giggle, she lets Sandra out of the embrace.

Everything feels fuzzy, for a moment, and then Jodie remembers her bag. She peels herself away from the space and retreats to pick it up off of the ground. She feels cold and her skin tingles, but she somehow feels so warm, at the same time.

Jodie picks the bag up and puts it around her shoulder. She hurries back to Sandra’s side and picks up Sandra’s backpack, as well.

Sandra clicks her tongue and tilts her head. Jodie is often kind, like this, and there is just no arguing against it.

Jodie smiles and puts her arm around Sandra.

Sandra puts her arm around Jodie, as well.

The two make their way to where they need to be. The journey is slow, leisurely . . . exactly how the beginning of each ending starts.


End file.
